


Ties that Bind

by opencirclefleet



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, And a lot of therapy, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Obi-Wan Needs a Hug, Qui-Gon Lives, Slavery, Slow Burn, may be a spoiler but i can't do non happy ending, mentions of noncon, slave!Obi-Wan, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-04 13:49:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11556507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opencirclefleet/pseuds/opencirclefleet
Summary: Qui-Gon Jinn has buried his past where it belongs - or so he thought. When Qui-Gon and his former apprentice, Anakin, are sent to negotiate with a planet that has yet to outlaw slavery and meet a slave named Ben, he finds some demons from his past are not yet done haunting him.





	1. Chapter 1

The Force was fairly screaming bad feelings at Qui-Gon.

At first it had been a dull ring in the background, growing steadily more prominent as they stepped off ship and were led down the halls of Oetera’s grand palace. Now, on their way to stand before the planet’s King, it was less an annoying gnat and more a large, ugly wampa swinging at his head. 

Qui-Gon shot a glance to see if his companion felt the same disturbance. However, his former apprentice was much too occupied with his own matters to notice. Anakin scowled at the slaves they passed in the corridors, his thoughts a dark jumble easily picked up by his former master. 

_ Steady, Anakin,  _ Qui-Gon sent him with a touch of the Force across their bond. They never broke stride, boots echoing down the marble halls.  

Anakin let loose a breath next to him.  _ Yes, Master. _

_ I’m no longer your Master, Imp. _

The younger man smirked.  _ If you say so, old man. _

Their blond bloomed with a spark of warmth in return. The Jedi Master knew the potential toll this mission could take on his former apprentice. Frankly, after outright refusing to let the Council place Anakin on the Zygerria assignment, Qui-Gon was nearly certain those stuffy old dods has sent them here just to prove a point about "attachment" or some such. 

Oetera was a prominently known slaving world, their black market teeming with imports from Zygerria, Trandosha, and plenty other high profile slave trades. Although their ruling government claimed to pass legislation against the act as part of their attempt at joining the Republic, their King (a separate body from the governing council) had come out in support of slavery several times. It was his reluctance to sign the treaty that led the Senate’s belief that Jedi intervention was due, as Oetera’s mining ore deposits were far too vast to let slip away.

Anakin had been furious about being pulled from the front lines. Qui-Gon had been furious at the Council for putting his apprentice in this position.

They made a good team. 

After all, they were  _ The  _ Team, the legendary Jinn-Skywalker, heroes of the galaxy and posterboys of the Grand Army of the Republic, the Maverick and the Hero-With-No-Fear. Rebellious, play-by-their-own-rules, grinning in the face of death with a cheeky wink. The scourge of the Jedi council affectionately known around the Temple as Mace Windu’s ever-growing headache. 

_ At least I know who to blame for this mess,  _ Qui-Gon thought as they were led into the throne room. Their guide was a blue-skinned Twi-lek girl who couldn’t have been much older than Ahsoka. By the slight twitch of Anakin’s prosthetic hand, his thoughts had gone down the same path as Qui-Gon’s, a scowl returning to crease his eyebrows. 

The man sitting on the flashy, pompous throne made no move to stand as they entered. King Sayir was a thin, reedy humanoid with blank white eyes and a dark, pointed beard. His crisp black robes symbolized royalty, while the heavy red gems dotting his throat and head were for wealth and power. At his side, a slave knelt quietly. Qui-Gon felt a flash of irritation at the bejeweled hand twisted in the slave’s red hair. 

The girl stopped short of the ornate dais that dominated the room, dropping to her knees with her head pressed to the floor. “Your Royal Highness,” she addressed the throne - specifically, the man sitting on it, “I present Masters Qui-Gon Jinn and Anakin Skywalker of the Jedi Order.”

Qui-Gon and Anakin bowed respectfully at the waist.  _ Calm,  _ Qui-Gon shot at Anakin, whose side of the bond was beginning to leach anger.

“Your Highness,” he greeted aloud, “We are honored to be in your presence.”

Sayir untangled his fingers from the slave’s hair and stood, a flicker of a smile playing across his blue-painted lips. “The pleasure is all mine, Master Jedi.” He stepped gingerly down from the dais, approaching them to clasp their hands in a customary greeting. Qui-Gon was sure every smile in the room was plastered on in falsity. 

“The negotiations will begin in the morning. I’m sure you must be tired after your long journey here - for now, rest. We shall discuss this...treaty at daybreak.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “Your kindness is most welcome, my Lord.”

Sayir hummed, then waved a hand behind him. The slave kneeling by the dais hadn’t moved until now, unfolding gracefully from the floor like a statue come to life. He was older than most of the slaves in the palace, in his mid to late thirties, yet he still came to a full foot shorter than both Qui-Gon and Anakin.  He was clean shaven, copper hair cropped short. His simple blue tunics denoted his rank as a slave, as did the gleaming silver collar around his neck. Something scratched at the back of Qui-Gon’s mind as padded over to the King - something strange and achingly familiar. Reaching out through the Force, he was surprised to find that the man left no impression - he was Force-null. Whether that was natural or had been done to him remained to be seen. 

The slave came to rest just behind his Master’s left shoulder, eyes fixed on the ground. The King smiled at him with sharp fangs. 

“This is Ben, one of my most favored...servants. I give him to you for the remainder of your stay as a show of goodwill from my court to your. I hope that he pleases you,” Sayir smirked, pressing a possessive hand to the slave’s shoulder. 

Ben dropped to one knee, bowing his head. “Masters,” he murmured. 

Beside him, Qui-Gon felt Anakin’s simmering rage as being given a slave coming to a boil. He couldn't blame him; the Force felt ready to throttle him, yet the reason for which it did still eluded him. 

“Thank you for this generous gift, King Sayir. We graciously accept,” he said before his companion made a mess of things. Oh, he was going to pay for this later in their quarters, given the glance Anakin sent his way. Qui-Gon nudged him imperceptibly with his elbow. 

Sayir nodded, prodding the kneeling Ben with his foot. “Show our esteemed guests their quarters,” he demanded. Ben stood silently and lifted his head, gray-blue eyes meeting those of the Jedi. 

Something clicked. 

“Follow me, please.”

For an instant, Qui-Gon felt himself floored, stuck in place as if struck by lightning. Memories of years far gone past flooded him as the slave turned to lead them out of the throne room. Suddenly, he was reminded of intelligent blue eyes, a kind but fierce smile, a fiery passion blazing in the Force. An earnest, desperate plea for once last chance; a solemn frown as a boy far too young to bear his mistakes offered his life for Qui-Gon’s on Bandomeer. The taste of bitter rejection in the Force as he boarded a ship home, leaving the boy behind. 

_ Obi-Wan? _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But first, some backstory

As they exited the throne room, Qui-Gon felt a cold certainty spread through his blood. Other than a gut feeling, he had no definitive proof that the man before him was indeed a long lost Jedi initiate. But then, since the puzzle pieces slid together, the Force had stopped shoving so insistently at him. Now it was more of a muted buzzing, a vague, nameless sense of _wrong_ twisting his gut. But that wasn’t quite right, was it? The problem at hand did in fact have a name. One he’d last heard a good twenty-five years ago.

“Ben” padded silently in front of them, light on the balls of his feet in cloth slippers. He led them through winding, airy corridors, bowing his head to various beings of higher class that passed them, before finally stopping at a heavy darkwood door.

“These will be your accommodations for the duration of your stay,” he murmured, pushing into the room. After all those years, he hadn’t lost the lilting High Coruscanti accent he’d been raised with.  Qui-Gon’s heart thudded uncomfortably against his ribs.

Their rooms were spacious, separated into two bedrooms adjoined by a common space. Gauzy white fabrics and golden baubles hung from the walls, rich silks strewn across the plush furniture. It was a room clearly meant to impress or impose its guests.

Ben turned to face them in the center of the common room, hands folded neatly at the small of his back. Blue eyes had yet to meet theirs since being introduced in the throne room, respectfully lowered at their feet as he awaited their command. He was the perfect picture of servitude - nothing like the fiery, passionate boy Qui-Gon remembered.

 _Perhaps I’m mistaken_. He prayed it was so.

Anakin, clearly still stewing and uncomfortable with the situation, excused himself, stalking out of the room. With the slam of a door, Qui-Gon was left alone with Ben.

A few tense minutes ticked by. He wondered if the man in front of him had recognized him (if this truly was Obi-Wan Kenobi), and whether he was silent out of duty or well placed fury at Qui-Gon.

He wondered if he should address the bantha in the room.

“Will you be requiring anything, sir?” Ben asked softly. It was as if his voice was incapable of reaching a certain decibel.

Qui-Gon shifted, mind racing. “No, thank you,” he decided on, “You are excused if you wish.”

The slave nodded, shuffling past with his eyes still downcast. Qui-Gon was itching in his skin, feeling ready to burst. At the last moment, Ben’s hand on the door, the Jedi Master turned and blurted, “Obi-Wan?”

Ben froze. For a brief, relieved moment, Qui-Gon thought he looked confused, ready to turn around and say beg pardon, sir, but what was that?

Instead, the slave sighed. “That name no longer holds any meaning for me.” And he slipped out of the room before Qui-Gon had time to process the words.

* * *

 

Obi-Wan’s head thunked against a marble pillar. As soon as the door had shut, he’d strode as far from the Jedi as possible in a way that was both fast yet was mindful of his place. If there was some precious little good to come from living in the palace for ten odd years, it was knowing the best hiding spaces like the back of his hand.

Of all the rotten, blasted luck -

_Qui-Gon Jinn is in the palace._

A soft sigh escaped his lips. Obi-Wan hadn’t given the Jedi much thought in years; not since the Jedi had rejected him as an apprentice and sent him on his way to the Agricorps. Not since he'd given up. In the beginning, after the passenger freighter from Bandomeer had been attacked by slavers, the tantalizing promise of a Jedi coming to his rescue had kept him alive, kept him sane. On good days, he associated them with hope, light, kind touches and a bright future; on bad days, he resented them for abandoning him, cursing the Council with everything in his soul. Even then, the knowledge of what he had once been part of gave him strength even when those around him had long since become dead-eyed and broken.

After all, a Jedi would not break in his position.

Obi-Wan tried to escape more times than he could count, and he had the scars from punishments to prove it. He was still a Jedi, even if they didn’t want him.

But he was a rare gift: he was smart. He knew his numbers and letters and a handful of other languages. He was good with his hands when it came to fixing things and worked quickly when given a task. Those skills kept him alive the first grueling years of his new predicament, when he fought and bit and clawed every step of the way. No master in their right mind would kill such a talented slave over a few spots of trouble.

Around sixteen, he had begun growing into the gangly, awkward limbs of childhood. Compact, lithe and graceful, with a handsome face to match, it was not long until he was properly trained in the aspects of other’s pleasure, nearly doubling his worth.

That made him a personal favorite among his Masters.

By the time he’d come into Sayir’s hands at twenty-five (a coronation gift for the then-prince), his eyes no longer shone with fury, his spirits dulled and any hope of escape long since abandoned. Other than the odd dream or flash memory, he forgot about his former life, burying it deep beneath pain and regret. The Jedi were no more than a fantasy out in the Rim.

Of all his masters, Sayir was far from the worst. He had a penchant for the whip, but Obi-Wan had been able to avoid the harshest beatings on account of being the King’s favored to share his bed. Years of slavery had taught him the tricks of the trade - keep your eyes down, voice soft, attend to and anticipate every wish, be good - and while most days he was a model possession, occasionally he would slip. Sayir would either have him beaten and then treated so as not to cause any permanent damage to his favorite plaything, or would take him to bed and punish him there. It depended on his mood. His master could be rather fickle.

All in all, Obi-Wan got along as well in life as he possibly could. But now, Qui-Gon Jinn was in the palace, and all of the agonizing, burning memories from Before came flooding back. He’d nearly retched on the King’s million-credit shoes when the Jedi had been introduced.

Fingernails dug little half moons into his arms as he shut his eyes tight. _There is no emotion, there is peace,_ he thought. One of the few habits he’d yet to break from. That, along with the initiate calming exercise he’d learned in the creche, slowed his breathing and heartrate back to normal. _No emotion; peace_. He released another breath and opened his eyes. With the Force taken from him years before, Obi-Wan used whatever was at hand to calm his emotions. Loud, quick-to-anger children did not survive in slavery. The boy declared too angry to be a Jedi had had to grow up quick.

_ No emotion.  _ A few more calming breaths, and Obi-Wan pushed off from the pillar. Qui-Gon Jinn no longer had a place in his life; Obi-Wan would not allow him to dredge up what he’d so carefully hidden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise answers will come...soon. Chapters are short now but I'm pushing to make them longer once we get into the good stuff.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon needs to chill

 

_ “Master Jinn?” _

_ Obi-Wan stood with his bag slung over his back on the ramp of the passenger frigate, forehead anxiously crinkled.  _

_ He’d bought the boy fresh clothes and a warm meal, the both of them still shaken after the events of days past. The hurt look as Qui-Gon informed the boy the Agricorps had transferred him to another planet had struck him to the core. He knew what Obi-Wan had been hoping for - that having been through what they had and proving himself, Qui-Gon would finally relent and take him on as a padawan. But his mind was set; he could not afford to lose another apprentice. Not after Xanatos had almost just killed them both.  _

_ Qui-Gon could see the last vestiges of hope in the boy’s watery eyes. “Thank you for your bravery, Obi-Wan. I trust that you have a bright future ahead of you.  _

_ Obi-Wan frowned; he hated that he could read the boy’s thoughts from the set of his pout after only knowing him a few days.  _

_ “May the Force be with you, Master,” Obi-Wan said stiffly, turning on his heel. Qui-Gon watched as he boarded the ship that would take him to his new position in the Agricorps.  _

_ “With you as well, young one.” _

* * *

 

“They gave us a  _ slave _ , Master!” Anakin yelled, pulling Qui-Gon out of his reverie. He paced about the room, fuming, gesturing wildly with his hands. The Knight had come out of his room as soon as Ben had left. Fury unchecked, he’d launched into a tirade, oblivious to his former Master’s obvious discomfort.

Qui-Gon’s traitorous mind brought forth images of Obi-Wan’s dead-eyed expression. “I’m well aware.”

Stars, how would the Council react when he told them? Vague memories floated by; Yoda telling him that the initiate he’d put on a frigate to Marfa had never arrived, the boy being presumed a runaway, too upset at not being chosen to stay within the Jedi ranks, and struck from the Order’s Agricultural Corps.  _ Force,  _ how could this have happened?

“This planet doesn’t deserve to be part of the Republic!” Anakin continued, “Why are we wasting our time here? We can find ore deposits on other worlds, worlds with more  _ sense _ . It’d take less time than trying to convince them to end  _ slavery  _ by  _ talking _ . Never works. They’ll just sign the treaty and change nothing while we’re too busy fighting a war to enforce anything.” His former apprentice was practically frothing at the mouth he was so worked up.

“Patience, Anakin,” he soothed, “Convincing Oetera to join the Republic is only the first step. Once we have their allegiance, it will not be long before they acquiesce to the laws **.** They need us just as much as we need them - they  _ will  _ sign.”

Qui-Gon stood and clapped a hand on Anakin’s tense shoulder. “I know this is hard for you. Remember your training and keep a level head. You will do the ones you wish to help no good by getting too involved.”

Anakin shrugged his hand off, piercing him with a stare. He could practically see the gears churning in his head. 

“What is your problem?” Anakin asked abruptly.

“I’m sorry?” 

“This. You. I know you, Master. You would be just as outraged as I am at being handed a...a  _ person _ , a living, breathing person with no will of their own! Hells, you would have stripped Sayir down in three words or less after he tried to give us him.”

Qui-Gon scrubbed a hand over his face. Suddenly he felt all sixty-three of his years. “There are...personal factors in play here for me...that make this assignment rather more difficult than I had thought,” he said.  _ Force, how to explain?  _

Anakin’s eyebrows crinkled in confusion. “What - “

Before he could finish, the door opened. Ben strode in, a tray loaded with steaming dishes in his hands, eyes on the ground. Qui-Gon took a step back. 

“Master Jedi,” he greeted softly, “I apologize for interrupting. The King has sent your dinner up, as he believes you tired from travel. He sends his regrets that he did not provide an adequate feast for your first night.”

Anakin’s anger seemed to return all at once. He fixed the slave with a hard look. “We don’t need your services,” he bit out, “You’re excused.”

“With all due respect, sir, that is not an option,” Ben murmured, “I’ve been assigned to attend to your needs for the duration of your stay. To leave you would be to directly violate my master’s wishes.”

“Well maybe I  _ need  _ for you to go away.”

“Anakin!” Qui-Gon said sharply, “That is quite enough.”

“Master - “

“Perhaps you’d like to take a walk to calm your head.” It wasn’t a question.

Stinging from the slap of Qui-Gon’s rebuke, Anakin glared at him, then shoved past to the door. Decorative trinkets shuddered on the walls as it slammed behind him. Once again, Qui-Gon was left alone with Ben, who looked as if the argument had never happened. 

“I apologize,” Qui-Gon said, “My padawan...he can be rather abrasive at times. It’s not to do with you.”

Ben set the tray down with care, arranging dishes on the table. “Your padawan?” he questioned. His face was carefully passive. 

_ Kriff.  _ “Former padawan.” 

Ben nodded. Seemingly fixed on his task, Ben was silent, only the tinkling of cups and bowls clinking together between them. Guilt reared its ugly head in his chest as the sight of a former potential Jedi doing such menial work under someone else’s order. 

“Obi-Wan-”

“Stop,” Ben cut him off, quiet but firm. For the first time since their meeting, his eyes met Qui-Gon’s, “I am no longer the castoff you think you remember. This is my life now, in no small part to you. I am merely doing what is required of me. I don’t need your pity, nor is it my duty to assuage your guilt. ”

A glimmer of his old self shone through, fierce yet deadly calm. For a moment, the gaze leveled at Qui-Gon was no longer dead. But then it was gone in an instant. Ben dropped his eyes again and added, “Sir,” in a whisper.

Qui-Gon watched him set to work around the table. Guilt and curiosity still gnawed at him like a pack of starving nexu. 

“What happened?” he asked, knowing the other man would understand what he was referring to. 

The slave sighed and picked up the empty tray. “The frigate from Bandomeer was attacked on the way to Marfa. We had escape pods on board; most of the passengers got out safely. I stayed behind to help a group of children to a pod. I wasn’t fast enough to get to one myself.”

“That was very brave of you,” Qui-Gon offered, lips quirking up in a smile he couldn’t suppress. Brave, kind hearted, selfless - Jedi to the very core. A twelve-year-old boy had sacrificed everything to help others escape. Oh, if only he had known the cost of it.

Ben’s lips thinned in a rueful smile. “Yes, I suppose it was.” He tucked the tray under his arm. “If you won’t be needing anything else, sir?”

“I don’t suppose you’d like to stay? Perhaps we could discuss…” Qui-Gon trailed off, before finishing with, “I’d like to help. If there’s anything I could do to help, tell me.”

The slave shook his head, lips pursed. “All due respect, Master Jinn,” he said shortly, “I don’t want your help.”

This time, as he pushed open the heavy door, Qui-Gon followed him into the corridor. 

“Wait - “

Qui-Gon’s hand shot out to wrap around Ben’s wrist without his permission. The other man stopped stock still in his tracks. “Please,” he breathed, “Allow me to apologize.”

Ben did not answer, but he did not pull away. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Qui-Gon knew it was ingrained in him - to stop when someone demanded it of him, the ceed to another’s touch. He was not allowed to move if he wanted to. 

“I was not fair to you. You were not at fault, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon continued, “It wasn’t you. I was the one who wasn’t ready; I was haunted by my past, and I was not ready to take another apprentice. Xanatos...I was a broken man when you crossed my path, broken by my mistakes. I...I fear I would have ruined you. It was my fear that caused my to deny you training, and for that I sincerely apologize.”

Ben spun on his heel, fury etched in his face. “You  _ did  _ ruin me!” he shouted, voice cracking tremendously. It was enough to make Qui-Gon take a step back in surprise. 

“All I wanted was to be a padawan,” Ben yelled, “My whole  _ life  _ I was told I would become a great Jedi. You were my last chance, you  _ knew  _ you were my last chance, and you shot me down anyway. Why? Because I was too angry, too headstrong, too arrogant - I was  _ twelve _ , Master Jinn! I was twelve years old, and you sent me away. 

“You think after all these years, after all I’ve  _ suffered _ from your mistakes, you can just apologize? My forgiveness is not so easily won. I’ve survived twenty-five years by the skin of my teeth, struggling as hard as I could as a  _ child _ to live, because you couldn’t find it in your shriveled, blackened heart to give me a chance. I don’t need your help; I’ve had to get here on my own with no assistance whatsoever. So when I tell you to leave me alone, Master Jinn, I mean  _ leave. Me. ALONE,”  _ Ben finished, red-faced and heaving. Qui-gon stood mute. The two of them stared at each other, one furious, the other shocked.

“OI!”

Both men only had a moment to react before Ben went down. Qui-Gon belatedly realized one of the royal guards had materialized and thrown him to the ground. The slave lay slack and dazed under the guard’s boot.

“What in blazes are you doing?” Qui-Gon yelled as two more guards sprinted down the hall. All three were decked in the same noxious green armorweave emblazoned with the King’s seal. 

The first guard hauled Ben to his feet by the collar with little resistance. He shook him hard. “You don’t  _ ever  _ speak to a freeman like that,” he screamed in his face, spit flying, “Got it, whore?”

Ben nodded mutely. The guard slammed him against the wall.

“Answer me!”

“Yes sir,” Ben demurred. 

“You know the punishment. Boys,” the guard nodded at his men, who advanced on Ben. Qui-Gon put himself between them and the slave.

“Let him go,” he seethed. 

The first guard looked him up and down, sneering. “You aren’t  in charge, Jedi. You don’t call the shots.” 

“To the contrary. This slave has been given to me for the time being. I  _ demand  _ you let him go at once.” The Jedi drew up to his full height, harsh and imposing. The two underlings looked nervous, but their leader was unperturbed. 

“That’s not how things work here,” the guard said, shoving at Qui-Gon to move, “He’s still Oeteran property, and on our planet, disrespecting a freeman is a serious offense. He’s got to be punished.”

By now, the other two guards had grabbed Ben by the upper arms. The slave hung limp between them, head down, resigned. 

Qui-Gon stepped closer to the guard. Up close, he could see the milky whites of his eyes and his crooked yellow snarl. “I have to object,” he growled. 

“You can bring it up with the King himself if ya like,” the guard leered, “I’m just doin’ my job.”

The guard motioned, and his fellows hauled Ben over to the wall and pinned him there, face ground into the bricks. There was no fight from the slave. The first guard slid a holster off his belt, igniting the shock whip. A flick of his wrist sent the first strike against Ben’s back; the slave jerked, but made no sound. Another flick; another flinch. Ben visibly bit his lips to hold his tongue. 

The guard put everything he had behind the whip, and by the tenth or so lash, Ben whimpered with each lick. Qui-Gon could only watch in horror, helpless, as yellow arcs of electricity sizzled across the torn back of Ben’s shirt. 

A particularly harsh blow broke Ben’s resolve. He cried out, writhing and screaming again and again until finally Qui-Gon stepped forward and caught the guard’s wrist. 

“That’s enough,” he said, practically begging. “He’s learned his lesson. Please - stop.”

The guard glared at Qui-Gon. After a heartbeat, he thumbed the trigger off and lowered his arm. His companions threw a panting, groaning Ben to the ground. The one who had whipped him picked him up by the collar again and kicked his shins so he was kneeling in front of the Jedi.

“Apologize to your master,” he demanded.

Qui-Gon felt ready to vomit as Ben carefully placed his hands on his knees, shivering. “I am truly sorry, Master Jinn,” he gasped, “It will not happen again. I swear it.”

The guard nodded. Apparently a reply from Qui-Gon was not necessary. Grinning, he kicked Ben one final time so the slave went sprawling on the ground, spat on him for good measure, and took his leave along with his friends. 

Qui-Gon waited until they were gone to bend down to the slave on the ground, reaching out to gently pull him up.

“Obi-Wan,” he murmured, but Ben jerked away from his hands, “Let me - “

“I’m alright,” Ben said. He gingerly picked himself up with a groan, wiping his face.  Qui-Gon stood with his hand outstretched as the slave took a few slow, uneasy steps. 

“I have bacta. Let me help.”

Ben didn’t even turn to look at him. “You’ve done quite enough,” he breathed harshly. Qui-Gon watched, frozen, as he stumbled down the corridor.

As luck would have it, just as Ben reached the adjacent hallway, Anakin rounded the corner. His scowl lifted as he watched the slave limp away, waving him off as he attempted to offer assistance. 

Anakin turned to Qui-Gon, eyes wide. “What the hells happened?”

Qui-Gon, for his part, felt ill. He took a deep breath and leaned against the wall, ignoring Anakin’s imploring pleas. 

_ Stars, what have I done? _

A cool hand touched his cheek. He opened his eyes to see Anakin kneeling in front of him. Oddly enough, he didn’t remember sinking to the floor.

“Master?” Anakin asked softly. The concern in his face edged out any trace of anger from their previous fight. 

Qui-Gon sighed.

“Come, young one,” he said, “I’ll explain inside.”

 

* * *

  
  


Kneeling with his forehead pressed to the cold stone tile, Obi-Wan only half listened as Rayseer recounted the scene in the corridor early. The head guard wildly over exaggerated Obi-Wan’s part in the ordeal, but he stayed silent. Experience had taught him that no matter what he said, it wouldn’t do an ounce of good.

No one listened to a slave over a freeman. 

Only Qui-Gon Jinn could make him lose his head and forget his training. The absolute  _ nerve  _ he had to try to apologize while on a mission with his...his... _ replacement _ . From the moment the Jedi attempted to speak with him about the past, the emotions he had carefully suppressed all these years had been rising, choking him, until that last straw was laid and the dam burst. Never in the nearly ten years of palatial service had he lost his composure like that. He supposed he’d just...snapped, the weight of memories associated with the Jedi too much for him to handle. 

But Little Gods, it had felt so  _ good  _ to be angry, to let himself  _ feel  _ an emotion and express it as loudly as he had. He had learned to keep his feelings locked up tight inside for the past two decades since resigning himself to his fate. There was a curl of satisfaction in his gut. 

Although, his back burned abominably; Rayseer had dug into him with everything he was worth. 

“Ben,” he heard. Obi-Wan snapped back to the present when he realized Sayir was addressing him. “Is this true? You... _ yelled  _ at one of our Jedi guests?”

Numbly, Obi-Wan nodded. 

“Look at me.” Obi-Wan obeyed. Confusion set Sayir’s pointed eyebrows low over his eyes, mixed with a look of concern for his slave that Obi-Wan knew to be false. 

“You are normally so level headed. Tell me, what caused you to attack a freeman with your words?”

Obi-Wan dropped his head again, feeling his cheeks grow pink with shame. “I...have a history with Master Jinn,” he sighed, “He is a...a rather unpleasant part of my past.”

“He was cruel to you?” Sayir asked curiously, clicking a ringed hang against the arm of his throne. 

_ Cruel?  _ Did he consider the Jedi abandoning him to be cruel? “In a way,” Obi-Wan mumbled.

The King hummed. Soft footsteps echoed through the room as he stepped down from the dais to where the slave kneeled before him. Cold, thin fingers grasped Obi-Wan’s chin, pulling his eyes up to Sayir’s suddenly hard gaze.

“Then it was his right to be so,” Sayir said, digging into his jaw, “Master Jinn is a freeman - your superior. He may treat you as he wants as long as it does not interfere with you master’s wishes. And it doesn’t.”

Obi-Wan knew to be silent, and to not drop his gaze. Two fingers slid into his mouth, pulling his jaw open. Sayir’s thumb pressed his tongue down. It was a move Obi-Wan was familiar with - a show of dominance, of power.

“Did they request your...service, tonight?” His master asked, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Obi-Wan shook his head minutely.

“Were you excused from your duties?”

A nod.

“Hmm.” Pupiless white eyes searched Obi-Wan’s face. “You’ve been very good, Ben. Such a good boy. So good, in fact, that I must have gotten careless with you.”

His jaw was released. Obi-Wan snapped his mouth shut and swallowed hard, muscles aching. 

“Sir?” he whispered.

Sayir smirked, running a hand through Obi-Wan’s short hair. “Finish your nightly tasks and come to my rooms afterwards. I believe you require a lesson in obedience. You need to be reminded of your place, flower.”

Chills ran down Obi-Wan’s spin; ‘flower’ was the pet name Sayir only used when he was either upset with him or feeling playful. The slave had a sinking feeling the case was the former. 

“Yes, sire.” He clambered shakily to his feet, face burning. Rayseer’s lustful sniggering followed him as he exited the room. 

A spark of anger curled hot in his stomach, but Obi-Wan pushed it down. Anger and hate would do him no good. Qui-Gon Jinn may have instigated the argument, but Rayseer had held the whip and Sayir had ordered his fresh undoing this night. He had lost his temper, yes, but he was not to blame for what had or had yet to occur. 

Still - there was always that dark, insidious voice in the back of his mind, whispering that he deserved his punishment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:  
> 1\. After all the great feedback from last chapter, I was so excited to get this to you guys I managed 3k words in 2 days! That's pretty good for me  
> 2\. I was so impatient to get this out to you guys I feel like I rushed it, so if you notice anything that doesn't sound right, let me know! You can find me at open-circle-fleet.tumblr.com  
> 3\. We'll get much more interaction with Anakin in the next chapter, don't worry


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin gets some one-on-one with Ben

The following morning was filled with hours upon hours of meetings with Oetera’s governing council and King Sayir and his court. The government was desperate to join the Republic in order to better their access to food supplies and hyperspace lanes, but Sayir was still staunchly opposed to several of the Republic’s bylaws.

Anakin excused himself from the meeting early, claiming a bad night’s rest brought on by jetlag. Negotiation had never been his strong suit  (one particular incident on Felucia came to mind). Qui-Gon could hold his own just fine without him, and besides physical tiredness, Anakin was also beginning to feel emotionally drained as well.

A young Togrutan boy had woken them at dawn with the customary tray of breakfast; the blue-skinned Twi’lek that had received them the previous morning was the ubiquitous slave kneeling at Sayir’s side during the meetings.

Ben was nowhere to be seen.

Anakin knew firsthand the punishments meted out to a difficult slave - starting with death. He prayed to both the Force and the old slave gods he’d learned of on Tatooine that Ben was still alive and alright.

The thought that they might have brought the man so much pain twisted Anakin’s insides.

After helping his former master into their rooms the previous night, Qui-Gon had let loose everything - the history between himself and Ben, their argument, Ben’s subsequent beating. And Anakin had stared at him, wide-eyed and horrified. Somewhere, he knew it wasn’t Qui-Gon’s fault. Not directly, at least.

“ _You left him!” he yelled, “How could you do that? To a_ child _, a child who_ needed _you?”_

_Qui-Gon scrubbed a hand over his face, weary, looking every bit his 65 years. “I thought it was best he be sent to the Agricorps. The Force...I didn’t listen properly. I thought he was meant to be a farmer.”_

_“So you could save me but not him?” Anakin argued, “What’s the difference between us, Master? Neither of us were wanted by the Council, but you still kept me. How come? What makes me special?”_

_“I was a different man then, Anakin. I did not know what I had done to him.”_

Anakin understood that. He knew, of course he knew, that there was no way Qui-Gon could have foreseen the fate that awaited the initiate he rejected. But damn it all to Sith hells if he wasn’t _furious_ his Master had sent a child into slavery, however indirect and accidental. Meditation, as always, failed to help, and so it was indeed a fitful night’s sleep.

The plush couch in their rooms was of little comfort to Anakin’s troubled mind as he lay splayed out, arm thrown across his eyes. So wrapped up in his thoughts was he that his senses didn’t pick up another being in the room until the clinking of glass filtered through his ears.

War-trained reflexes kicked in as Anakin bolted upright. Ben flinched at the sudden movement, frozen in the middle of setting down a tray of pastries.

He bowed his head, saying, “I apologize for waking you, sir, I--”

“You’re alright!” Anakin blurted. Confusion flickered across the slave’s face, “I - was worried when I didn’t see you this morning. After last night...I feared the worst.”

Ben blinked. “I appreciate the concern, sir. I was...preoccupied this morning before the negotiations. I apologize for my tardiness.”

Dark bruises and bite marks littered the man’s pale neck and trailed down the collar of his red tunics. Anakin could hazard a guess as to what “preoccupied” meant. Another rush of anger coursed through his veins.

Anakin swallowed it down for Ben’s sake. “No need to apologize. I, however, am sorry for my behavior earlier. It was unfair of me to speak to you like that.” The slave dropped his eyes and nodded, hands clasped in front of him.

The unspoken lay thick between them - the beating Ben had received the previous night on the Jedi’s behalf weighed heavy and awkward in the air. Anakin stood and rounded the small table. The slave didn’t move a muscle as he approached, but he barely managed to suppress a wince as Anakin placed a hand on his back. He pulled back the collar of Ben’s tunic to peer at the long, angry red whip marks, hissing in sympathy.

“These must hurt like a bitch,” Anakin murmured, “We have bacta. Do you want some?”

Ben hesitated; it was clear no one had offered help in a long while. Distrust played across his face.

Eventually, he whispered a hoarse, “Please.”

Anakin nodded, gesturing to the couch while unclipping the bacta from his belt. He waited patiently as Ben tugged off his tunic in slow, short movements. Pale silver scars littered his chest, contrasting with the fresh marks on his back. Handprint-shaped bruises, both dark and fading yellow, scattered across his ribs and hips.

Another rush of fury was flung into the Force.

“Up here,” Anakin said as Ben made to kneel on the floor. It hurt, stars, it hurt to see the trepidation in the slave’s body language as he sat on the very edge of the cushions, still and stiff as possible.

Uncomfortable silence dominated the room as Anakin gingerly spread bacta over Ben’s back. Ben sucked in a pained breath at the first touch of cool gel, then released it as the bacta started to work its magic. Slowly, his shoulders dropped lower and the muscles relaxed.

They passed some odd moments in peace, Anakin attending to the slave’s wounds with a tender hand.

“I’m sorry about all this,” Anakin said quietly. Ben’s shoulders tensed again as he dotted bacta over a shallow bite on the junction of his shoulder and throat. “It never should have happened.”

The slave shook his head. “Please don’t apologize, sir. It’s my duty to serve and I was out of line. My punishment was well within bounds.

“No, it wasn’t. No beating is ever warranted. Especially not…” Anakin trailed off, fingers lightly hovering above a handprint curled on the side of a rib.

Ben cleared his throat. “You excused me for the night, sir,” he explained, “Since I was not needed, my master decided to...use my services.”

“And tonight?”

“If you won’t be needing me, sir, he most likely will.” It was said as plain as discussing the weather, just another average, unassuming part of life. That Ben’s role in the palace doubled as a pleasure slave was not surprising in the least. While he was older than what most preferred, he still had a charming air and rugged good looks, short copper hair offsetting crystal blue eyes.

_I can’t let him be hurt. Not again._

“I think I will need you around tonight after all,” Anakin decided.

The slave’s eyes flashed for a moment - even without the Force shimmering around him, Anakin could see the assumption of betrayal. So Anakin tilted his head and raised his eyebrows knowingly.

Understanding cleared over Ben’s face.

“Oh,” he breathed, “I...sir, please, you needn’t do this on my account.”

“I won’t have you suffer when I am fully able to stop it,” Anakin said softly.

He didn’t know what he expected - some vague feeling of gratitude, maybe. But what he didn’t expect was for the slave to pull away again, expression cloudy.

“He told you, didn’t he?”

His feelings in the Force were masked, yet Anakin could hear the burning shame in the question. “Yeah. He did. Not all of it, I don’t think, but...yeah.”

Ben went silent, a light, embarrassed flush spreading across his cheeks. He felt the other man pulling away, but Anakin plowed ahead anyway.

“Do you mind if I ask...I can’t feel you in the Force,” Anakin traced his fingers questioningly along the silver collar fixed around Ben’s neck.

“There’s a chip somewhere that blurs my connection,” Ben explained, “In my shoulder, I believe, although I’m not sure. It was placed a long time ago. The collar is just a mark of ownership.”

Anakin nodded thoughtfully. Hand splayed in the center of Ben’s back, he closed his eyes and concentrated, sinking into the currents of the Force.

Technology tended to vibrate at a different frequency than living tissue. He searched until he found a low hum, carefully feeling around until he hit metal. In the Force he could see it: a tiny, inch-long rectangle of plasteel and wire in the muscle of Ben’s left shoulder. Tendrils of the Force reached out and traced the circuitry. If he could just…

Suddenly Ben sucked in a breath, jerking away. Anakin snatched his hand away.

“Sorry,” he said, not entirely knowing what he’d done, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to - “

“Do you need anything else, sir?” Ben interrupted. They’d taken a step backward; the slave’s eyes were once again fixed on the ground, body language tense.

“No. No, just - come back here in the evening to sleep. If you want, of course,” Anakin added hastily, berating himself for losing the other man’s trust. He waiting until after Ben nodded and left before once more collapsing on the couch, letting out a frustrated breath.

This mission was proving more difficult than he’d imagined.

 

* * *

  


The meeting chambers had long since cleared of councilmen and women. Qui-Gon had waited until everyone left to have this conversation with the King. Not out of respect for the man, oh no - but with the understanding that he would be more willing to agree if he had no one to keep his appearance up for.

Alone, with no governing members to impress, Sayir looked tired and beaten. He’d been outvoted: Oetera would join the Republic, and as such, the planet would follow its bylaws. Slavery would indeed be abolished.

Qui-Gon allowed himself to feel the smug glow of accomplishment at that.

“You have no idea what you ask of me,” Sayir murmured, rubbing his temples. Milky white eyes gazed sharply at Qui-Gon.

“With respect, sir - no slave on Oetera will continue to be made to forcibly serve. If they stay is their choice, but I imagine those who will would be few. I am offering a solution to a problem you will soon face anyway.”

“Ah, but it will be some months, perhaps even years, before this change is fully enforced. You forget, Master Jedi, I know bureaucracy well; slavery has been a part of Oetera’s traditions for millennia. It will be quite some time before it is phased out entirely,” the Kind argued, “Ben has served me well for many years. I find myself unwilling to part with him, even if only delaying the inevitable for a short while.”

Qui-Gon countered, “He is getting older, though. Most pleasure slaves do not last past thirty, if that. I imagine you would only have him for a few more years at most, and then what? Send him to the brothels or the mines until he is worked to death? Do not tell me you’ve kept him all these years and have no sympathy for his future.”

The King seemed to consider this. Qui-Gon added, with a hint of Force backing his words, “You will have to release him eventually, whether this rotation or the next or so on, by your own hand or by law. I am offering to take him off your hands.”

Sayir collapsed back into his chair with the well-practiced grace of a royal, running a hand over his beard. “You drive a hard bargain, Jedi.” He paused, “Allow me time to think it over.”

Qui-Gon bowed respectfully. “Thank you, your highness.”

He was halfway out of the throne room before Sayir called to him.

“Master Jinn?” Qui-Gon turned. Some curious, nameless expression had taken over the King’s face. It made the Jedi uneasy.

“My Lord?”

Sayir considered him for a moment. “Ben has been in my service for twenty five years now. Never before have I known anything to cause him to lose his composure like he did the previous night. I have no interest in learning what past abuse caused him to react like that, but I would hope you do not intend to repeat it.”

It was a warning; vague, flippant, and mildly uninterested, but a warning nonetheless. Odd, how someone so lacking in scruples, who had inflicted his own abuse and overruled Ben’s autonomy for years, seemed to have an ounce of care for his slave’s well being, however minute it was.

Qui-Gon bowed his head once more. “As do I, your highness.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally get to see Anakin interact with Ben. Sorry for the delay, I had MASSIVE writer's block and the first month of college hit me like a truck. I have some ideas for the next chapter :)  
> A/N: If you want the exact image of what Ben's wearing, it's the prison uniforms from the boiling rock episodes of avatar the last airbender: http://piandao.org/screenshots/fire/fire15/fire15-2305.jpg  
> As always, comments, criticisms and suggestions are always welcome!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon fucks up pt. 2

Anakin gestured to the side of the bed. “Shirt off?”

It wasn’t a command, but Ben obliged anyway.  Cool fingers smoothed over the tender skin of his back. The muscles beneath didn’t so much relax as loosen, but even that was a good indication of his relative comfort with the Jedi. 

“It’s healing nicely,” Anakin said, reaching for the bacta, “I don’t think it’ll scar, but I’m no medic.”

Ben hummed in response as the other man dabbed more bacta on his wounds.The morning had started innocently enough with early-afternoon sunlight pouring in window - a treat, as the King kept his blinds drawn tight in the mornings, and his own cramped quarters in the cellar were windowless. Even the faceless guests Sayir had him serve seldom let him stay the entire night.

It had been an odd feeling to wake up in a bed with another being in it and still be fully clothed. Even odder was trying to fall asleep next to someone who was so conscious of his position as a slave his leg hadn’t stopped jostling for hours. 

_ “Sorry,” Anakin muttered. He rolled over to peer at Ben over the line of pillows he’d set up between them. Something about sleeping in the same bed as a pleasure slave made his stomach roil with unease, but Ben had refused to let him give up the entire bed to sleep on a couch in the main room, and Anakin wouldn’t let him sleep on the floor. Eventually they agreed to share the bed, but while it was more than big enough for the both of them, Anakin had set a clear barrier. He felt boundaries were important. _

_ “I don’t mind,” Ben replied. Truth be told, he was just as uncomfortable as the Jedi. Curled up next to the man, as small as he could make himself, he was in territory he’d not faced in years; not since… _

_ But he chased that thought away.  _

_ “Do you really not mind, or are you just saying that because you have to?” _

_ He shrugged. It wasn’t his place to have an opinion.  _

_ Anakin sighed and stilled his leg. It was going to be a long night.  _

From the adjoining common room, Anakin could hear Qui-Gon bustling about, the smell of a simple breakfast wafting through the door. He figured his former Master had opted to cook morning meal when Ben failed to show up at their door.

This would be their last day on Oetera. The negotiations had wrapped up that morning, and after a late midday meal to work over the final details, the Jedi would be on their way. 

Anakin frowned as he finished dabbing bacta on Ben’s wounds. He hated the idea of leaving Ben behind. As a fellow Jedi - failed initiate or no, he was still one of their own - their leave would abandon him back to the cruelties of slavery. It was  _ wrong _ in a way he couldn’t begin to articulate. But his Master was a man who lived in the moment; the guilt over Ben’s fate would be felt now, then passed into the Force as one must “leave the past behind”. Qui-Gon could be so bullheaded and oblivious sometimes, Anakin wasn’t sure it was worth it to even argue for freeing the slave. 

Next to him, Ben pulled his tunic back over his head and stood. 

“You can stay,” Anakin offered, but Ben shook his head. There was only so much time he could spend neglecting his chores before the guards came looking. 

“I had better not. Thank you, Master Skywalker, for…” he gestured vaguely, “This.”

Anakin walked with him to the door. “Of course. Let me, uh, know if there’s anything else I can do before we leave?”

The slave gave a noncommital hum as the door to the common room slid open. Standing at the small kitchenette, Qui-Gon turned to greet his former apprentice, only to do a double take as Ben walked out. In return, Ben’s form stiffened as soon as he caught sight of the Jedi, not meeting his gaze. 

“Sir,” he greeted, respectful, if a tad cold. He was out of the quarters before Qui-Gon’s parted mouth could formulate a response. 

As soon as the door closed, he turned on Anakin, eyebrows arched. “You didn’t - “

“Nothing happened,” Anakin asserted sharply, “I asked him to stay with me so the King wouldn’t abuse him again last night. It was…” he sighed, the fight draining out of him, “Bad.”

Qui-Gon’s expression grew pained as he released a breath. “His wounds, or himself?”

“The wounds. He wasn’t - well, he talked. Not much, but more than before. I think he no longer sees me as a threat.” And hadn’t that taken a while - nearly as long as it had for Ben’s arms to come untucked from his sides and the guarded expression drop to something more neutral. Eventually, if only for a small amount of time, Anakin managed to lull him into a light conversation. 

_ “Racing pods is very dangerous. Not many beings walk away alive.” _

_ “I was the only human to do it.” He tried not to boast, old pride swelling up. “You ever seen a race?” _

_ “Once. A former Master on Theron liked to watch. Very fast, very dangerous.” _

_ Anakin fell silent as he was, yet again, reminded of Ben’s place as a slave. He couldn’t help himself from saying, “Piece of bantha poodoo.” _

_ “Oh, he wasn’t particularly bad. Theron was brief, though, and the couple who bought me were much crueler.” _

_ “....perhaps we should sleep.” _

_ “Yes, sir.” _

Dawn found them both (surprisingly) well rested, but the tension between them was still thick and awkward as all hells. Ben’s lax attitude about his own enslavement chafed at Anakin’s a personal experience, and Anakin’s status as both a Jedi and the former apprentice of a very  _ specific  _ Jedi seemed to make Ben supremely uncomfortable. For good reason, Anakin though, with a rather unkind thought he kept shielded from Qui-Gon.

The Jedi Master fell quiet. He scooped the flatcakes from their steaming pan - Anakin didn’t even want to  _ ask  _ where he got the materials for those. They sat around the small caff table to eat, like the times as a padawan when Anakin’s day of no classes coincided with when Qui-Gon’s duties were not until late evening. The two of them would spar after morning meal until Qui-Gon’s teaching duties, and then Anakin would tinker with whatever droid was occupying his attention until his Master returned to offer suggestions with an affectionate ruffle of spiked hair.

“Isn’t there something we can do?” the Knight asked, thoughtfully gesturing with his fork, “Can we offer that  _ fierfek _ King a price? Buy him and free him? I don’t like the idea of...of purchasing another being, but I - Master, I can’t walk away from Ben. He needs our help.”

Qui-Gon was unusually silent. Looking up from his plate, Anakin noticed his former Master’s lips were pursed in that guilty akk-dog expression he knew all too well.

_ Sithspit.  _

“What did you do?” he demanded. The effect was ruined somewhat by his full mouth; he swallowed.

His master crossed his silverware on his plate. “I agree that we cannot leave Obi-Wan behind,” Qui-Gon explained, picking his words with care, “I had to right the wrongs from so long ago. But Sayir is a man of deeply bred tradition, and stubborn as a bantha at that. In his eyes, he’s been humiliated in front of his own court by agreeing to the Republic’s demands. He would never accept any price we offer for fear of appearing weak once more.”

The blood drained from Anakin’s face, a pit dropping in his gut. He set his silverware down with a sharp  _ click _ , snarling.

“ _ What did you do.” _

Qui-Gon scrubbed a hand over his face. “Eventually, he agreed to a trade. Until we are back in Republic space...legally, I own Ben.”

* * *

 

The savory scent of a luscious midday meal greeted Obi-Wan when he entered the grand dining area. Sayir’s sendoff to the Jedi would require nothing less than a feast of the entire court. The low-tech datapad in his room read that he was assigned to prepare the table and seating.

His back twinged when bent to set the silverware, but it was already far better healed than it had been. Master Skywalker’s kind offer of bacta had helped immensely. For the physical injuries, anyway. Mentally, his thoughts were a tangled mess. 

Skywalker had been assumed to be a bull-headed, spoiled brat of a Jedi, far too young to be trusted with such power (as Obi-Wan guessed him to be around 20 or so years of age, younger than his stretched memory would put a Knight). Instead, a kind, thoughtful young man had apologized for his behavior, wasted precious bacta on his non-lethal wounds, and insisted he stay with them not to take advantage, but to keep others from doing so. It was...odd. Niceties usually only ended up as a ruse to get something from him. Obi-Wan was caught off guard at being offered help out of genuine selflessness.  _ Especially  _ coming from Qui-Gon Jinn’s padawan. 

Menial tasks helped to calm his thoughts. Busy hand left no room for idle minds, and midday meal was less than an hour away. A Twi’lek girl, Shira, pressed her lips in a smile as they made eye contact across the table, which he returned. 

Once the feast was over, the Jedi would leave, and everything would be as it had been. There would be no Qui-Gon Jinn to remind him of his failures, no Anakin Skywalker granting him kindness he did not deserve. His only concern would once more be to serve, and life would be so much easier.

“Ben.”

Sayir’s voice boomed through the dining hall without having to yell. Obi-Wan turned and dropped to his knees, forehead to the floor.

Heels clicked across the smooth marble toward him. “Rise.” He did so, and felt a wave of dread. The King’s arms were folded across his chest, looking...displeased.  _ Very  _ displeased.

“A word,” the King snapped, and Obi-Wan followed obediently into the throne room, heart in his throat.

Sayir had him kneel in front of the throne, sat back on his haunches to meet his eyes, hands folded in his lap. His Master crossed one leg irritably across the other as he sat. He did not speak for a good while, twirling a rope off the back of the throne between thin fingers. Ben didn’t dare to ask what was wrong; it wasn’t his place to speak first.

“Have I been a good Master, Ben?” Sayir asked suddenly, with an air of annoyance, “Have I ever been cruel without reason? Has your time in my care been disatisfactory?”

Startled, Obi-Wan tried to think of any reason the King would be asking him this. “You have been a most gracious Master all my years, sir,” he assured, “Far more so than I deserve. Have I done something to his grace’s disliking?”

Sayir huffed, rings clicking against the throne, mulling over his thoughts while Obi-Wan’s fate hung in the balance. Finally, he said, “After today, you will no longer be in my service.

Obi-Wan just about stopped breathing. 

His mind raced, panicked. Sayir was giving him up. Sending him to the brothels, or the mines, or sold to fight to the death for sport. What could he have done to make his Master want to get rid of him? Just the other night, even as a punishment, the King has seemed  _ most  _ pleased with his performance. He suppressed a shudder, backside aching at the memory.

Had his quarrel with Jinn made it clear he was no longer worthy to serve? Obi-Wan sunk lower. “Have I done something to offend his highness?”

“Oh, no.” Sayir stepped down from his dais to cup Obi-Wan’s chin lightly, “You have been a loyal servant, my flower. But the Republic owns you now. Our way of life is about to come to an end as our traditions are abolished. Master Jinn bargained for your ownership when the treaty was signed this morning. You will be leaving with him after the feast.”

“M-Master Jinn?”  _ Qui-Gon Jinn... _ owns _ me?  _ The very thought sickened him to the core. Sweat broke out along his brow; Obi-Wan’s head was spinning, blood pounding in his ears.

The hand on his jaw tightened, nearly imperceptible. “I expect you will be a model servant to him,” Sayir said, remonstrating.

Obi-Wan swallowed hard. “Y-yes, my Lord.”

Just then, the first members of the governing council began to arrive, calling away attention from his predicament. Sayir released him with a broad smile, turning to greet them, as Obi-Wan stood on shaky legs to go finish preparing the table.

_ I’m going back to Coruscant. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated  
> Since September  
> If people are still reading this I'M SO SORRY


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan meets the clones  
> ***EDIT updated to fix a continuity error in ship names, thank you anesor!

 

Anakin and Obi-Wan were ignoring him.

Well within reason, Qui-Gon surmised, glancing at his scowling apprentice in the pilot’s seat. Obi-Wan’s rather depressing, moth-eaten cloth bag of personal items sat at his feet, the man himself having been excused to the back cabin. He’d a little too pale once they’d taken off.

The former slave - because despite what the primitive laws of the Outer Rim dictated, Obi-Wan _was_ free in Qui-Gon’s mind - hadn’t said a word since boarding the ship with the bag slung over his shoulder (and what possessions a slave would own, he could only guess), trudging up the ramp like a death march. Anakin had followed him, leaving Qui-Gon to bid goodbye to King Sayir and the governing council so he could help Obi-Wan get situated.

Sayir pressed his lips into a thin smile as Qui-Gon bowed farewell. “Safe travels, Master Jedi. The government of Oetera thanks you for your - assistance.”

“Thank you, your highness,” Qui-Gon acknowledged, noting the frigid formalities, “The Republic is at your service should you require us again.”

“Hmm. Let us hope we do not come to that.” And then Sayir turned, giving the Jedi the stiff line of his back. Qui-Gon struggled to remain polite to the rest of the governing council.

It didn’t matter now. Oetera was nothing but a dull red speck in the distance. _Good riddance,_ Qui-Gon thought. Once they docked with the _Vigilance_ , he could begin sorting this whole mess out. He was resolutely _not_ thinking about the Council’s reaction when he told them. _Live in the moment_ was his motto, and living in the moment prolonged Mace spearing him with a practice sabre in his sure-to-be fury.

The console’s holocom chirped three times. Qui-Gon’s commander, Cody, sprung to life in shimmering blue.

“General Jinn. General Skywalker,” He snapped to attention, helmet tucked under his arm. “The _Vigilance_ and the _Resolute_ are at the rendezvous and awaiting your arrival. Do you have an ETA?”

“At ease, Cody,” Qui-Gon said as the man relaxed. “We’ll be exiting hyperspace in about 20 minutes. Do me a favor and have us ready to comm with Coruscant when we get there.”

“Understood. Cody out.”

The holo blinked out of existence. Anakin, who had been silent since they’d made the jump to hyperspace, stood. Several joints popped as he linked his hands above his head and stretched.

“I’ll let Ben know we’re boarding soon,” he said tightly, disappearing through the cabin door. Qui-Gon watched him go in the viewport’s reflection, knowing the inevitable fallout of his apprentice’s cold shoulder would be hell.

The cabin of ambassador shuttles were tight, gray boxes with enough room for a bunk, a place to stretch one’s legs, and little else. Anakin had to duck down to avoid banging his head in the doorway. Ben was sitting cross-legged on the bunk in what looked suspiciously like a meditation pose. He decided not to comment on it.

Anakin knocked twice on the wall. “You alright?”

Ben cracked an eye open. “Fine, sir.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Anakin said, moving over to him in two steps and patting an open spot on the bunk in question. Ben blinked at him, mildly surprised, and nodded.

“Do what?” he asked as Anakin settled next to him.

“Agree,” Anakin explained, “Being okay all the time even if you’re not. I know you’ve had to do that in the past, but you can speak your mind.” It’d taken him a while to be able to speak freely with Qui-Gon - or anyone, for that matter - having had “don’t speak unless spoken to” drilled into his head for nine years. That was one of the rules of slavery that never varied.  

Ben’s lips pursed like he was debating whether to say something. “I’m not a particularly big fan of space travel. Or flying in general, really,” he admitted.

“Any particular reason?”

Another pause. “Flying tends to mean changing owners. Being sold. It’s rare I know my destination before we land, even rarer to know what awaits when we do. I can only hope it will be better than what I left behind.” He remembered his teenage years being particularly hard, bouncing from planet to planet, sold for consistent mouthing off and a stubborn streak a parsec wide.

Ben’s eyes were fixed on the bulkhead, distant. Mentally, Anakin steeled himself, knowing he’d have to share his past eventually.

“I know how you feel,” he ventured.

“Permission to speak freely?”

“Granted, always. You don’t have to ask.”

“Then respectfully, sir, I disagree.” Ben had pulled his knees up to his chest and looped his arms around them, making himself small.

Anakin felt a pang in his chest. Navigating difficult situations was never one of his strong suits. He wasn’t exactly known for his delicacy, and had nowhere near inherited his Master’s silver tongue.

“Have you ever been to Tatooine?” Ben shook his head. “It’s a miserable, dustbowl, waste of space planet in the asshole of the Outer Rim. I grew up there. I wasn’t like most Jedi; they didn’t find me ‘til I was nine. It’s Hutt territory, so the Republic really doesn’t have any control out there - but you probably knew that already.

“My mom was sold to Gardulla the Hutt when I was four. She’d been a slave almost all her life, and if Qui-Gon hadn’t found me, so would I. I was just lucky.”

Ben blinked, surprised. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know.”

“Anakin,” the Jedi corrected gently, “And you don’t have to apologize. It’s not something I talk about much. It’s something no one can understand unless they’ve been through it. And it never _really_ goes away - hells, it took me a year to start calling anyone in the Temple ‘master’ - but it does get better. I mean, I was nine, so it might take longer for you. But it’ll get better, believe me.”

Ben took in the Jedi’s words for a moment, then dipped his head in acknowledgement. It was a start.

“Qui-Gon can be the most oblivious, stubborn-ass nerf herder in the galaxy. But he’s a good man. I’m not asking you to forgive him!” Anakin interjected as the other man opened his mouth, “I’m just saying. For posterity’s sake. He was my Master, after all.”

For a moment, Anakin felt a  lick of fear at having mentioned being Qui-Gon’s padawan, but Ben’s lips quirked up. He made a note to stop assuming the worst.

“Very well,” he said, sobering quickly, as he was wont to do, “If you do not mind my asking, s-Anakin, where are we headed?”

“We’re docking with Qui-Gon’s flagship, which is waiting for us just inside Republic boundaries. If you have no objections, I’d like to take you to medical once we dock with the _Vigilance_ and see what we can do about that chip, get bloodwork done, make sure you’re healthy and all. After that...my guess is we go back to Coruscant. Probably the Temple. I’m, ah, not exactly sure what the plan is after that.”

Obi-Wan’s lips pursed and eyes dropped in that uncomfortable way of his. “I see.”

“Do…” Anakin wracked his brains, trying to pick the right words as he shifted a little closer, “Do you know what you want to do? I mean, is there anything you’d like us to - um - set up?”

“No,” Obi-Wan shook his head with a wry grin, “Freedom was something I’d given up on a long time ago. The only future I hoped for after sixteen or so was a relatively painless death.”

 _Fierfek._ Anakin sucked in a surprised breath. The calm way Obi-Wan could say such horrifying things about his existence without batting an eye was unnerving. A little brave, too, if he was being honest with himself. Rarely were victims of slavery so nonchalant when discussing their past.

Obi-Wan blinked at him, noticing the shift in body language. “I apologize for my bluntness, sir,” he said quickly. It pained Anakin to realize it would take a lot more than freedom to break those habits.

“You don’t - it’s fine. Nothing I can’t handle.” Anakin managed a smile, “We’re about an hour out from the _Vigilance._ I’ll let you know when we’re about to dock. Feel free to get some rest in the meantime.”

Ben seemed to take that as either permission or an order to lie down, so he curled up with his back to the bulkhead and shut his eyes.

Slipping back into the cockpit, Anakin’s mind was stuck on what Ben had said about not having an idea of what he wanted to do once freed. Qui-Gon shot him a look as he sat down, but he paid him no mind.

An idea was forming.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan sat on a bunk in the bright white sickbay while a medic ran some tests. Qui-Gon’s commander, Cody, was waiting outside a line of thin plastic curtains, having had the other man unceremoniously dumped on him an hour prior.

At least, that’s how Obi-Wan felt it went. Upon boarding the _Vigilance_ _,_ the two Jedi were pulled into a myriad of conference calls by a man in an admiral’s uniform. Anakin stuttered at leaving him until Qui-Gon assigned Commander Cody to take him to medical. The Knight only acquiesced when Qui-Gon promised he could return soon, leaving with a small grin tossed over his shoulder.

Obi-Wan tried to suppress the flutter of warmth at that. It wouldn’t do.

Not that Cody hadn’t been perfectly polite to him, slowing up his step in a fruitless attempt to stay in line with him the whole way to medical and failing to engage in small talk through no fault of his own. Although Obi-Wan knew the clone was just following orders, it seemed that the commander and his brothers were fairly even-tempered.

Kix, a medic in blue-striped armor, had been patient with him while describing the various scans and samples he’d taken, frowning at Obi-Wan’s lack of knowledge of his own medical history. He’d given his name and a sketchy rundown of past illnesses and injuries, but otherwise shook his head silently at Kix’s gentle probing.

War had not affected Oetera for some time, so despite his skilled eavesdropping around the palace, Obi-Wan knew next to nothing about the Republic’s army. Seeing the identical faces dressed up armor raised his hackles in uncomfortable familiarity. He couldn’t help but see the ways the clones’ existence coincided with his own.

Someone knocked on the wall outside, and Obi-Wan gave his consent for them to enter. Kix pulled back the curtain, smiling.

“Hello again, Ben,” he greeted, a data pad in hand, “I’ve got your results back. Everything looks as good as we can hope for, but there’s a few things I’d like to cover. Alright?”

Ben tried to suppress a wave of anxiety, nodding silently.

“To start off with the good news, your bloodwork is mostly clean. The only thing I found is you seem to have picked up a latent STI, but that can be cleared in a couple weeks with the right antibiotics. Shouldn’t have any long term effects. I’ll let the healers go more into that, nothing to worry about though. You also have quite a number of breaks and fractures that never healed properly - “ Kix handed over the data pad to give him a look, “Two on the ribs, one on the right wrist and a few nasty ones on your left leg. Those will probably need surgery to correct to prevent any future damage or discomfort. Again, nothing too serious, the staff on Coruscant can go over a plan for that later if you decide to get those fixed.”

Obi-Wan scanned the pad, picking it apart with his eyes. Once when he was about eight, he dimly remembered, he’d broken his arm in a sabre training accident. Master Drallig had picked him up and carried him all the way to the healers, much to his mortification. The healers had shown him an x-ray of his arm after setting it in a cast, practically coddling him and telling him how very brave he was, not even crying with a serious injury. He’d worn the cast as a badge of honor for the whole six weeks.

Something caught his attention. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing at a tiny square in the middle of his shoulder. Obi-Wan already had his suspicions.

“Ah,” Kix grew serious, “That, I imagine, is your deactivation implant.” A very nice way of saying slave chip.

“Can you get it out?”

The medic took back the pad, troubled. “With its position so close to major arteries and nerves, I don’t want to risk it with what we have on board. Something else for Coruscant to deal with, but I have no doubt they’ll be able to get it just fine.”

Obi-Wan swallowed his disappointment, until Kix added, “I can deactivate it, however.”

He slipped out of the bunk and went scavenging around the cabinets, coming back with a different scanner than the other four or five already used. Fiddling with the knobs, Kix tapped the scanner against Obi-Wan’s left shoulder.

“Promise not to blow me up?” Obi-Wan let the corners of his mouth twitch up in humor. Kix grinned back.

“As long as I have the right frequency, we have nothing to worry about,” he assured, tapping away, “And I’m certain I do. Ready?”

Obi-Wan took a breath, then nodded. “Do it.”

A low whine emitted from the scanner as Kix twisted a knob up higher. Obi-Wan waited, patient yet anxious, waiting for any kind of change.

And then -

The scanner beeped twice, but Obi-Wan didn’t hear it. _Couldn’t_ hear it over the sudden rush of the Force returning in a tidal wave, knocking the breath out of him like a punch to the gut. Thousands of lights on board the ship burned, everything was too bright, too loud, every living being’s consciousness clamoring for his attention in his mind.

Obi-Wan cried out, overwhelmed, clutching his head. Behind him Kix yelled for what was wrong while Cody burst into the room in a panic. Years as a Force-null, stripped of his connection, left his primitive shields in tatters. He writhed off the bed, screaming.

He could feel _everything_.

  


* * *

  


The two Jedi in the conference roomed sensed the disturbance immediately from halfway across the ship. Qui-Gon trailed off his sentence, to the confusion of the High Council on the other end of the comm call, as Anakin swung his head wildly to his Master. He put a hand on his arm, urging him.

“Go see what’s wrong,” Qui-Gon commanded, and Anakin didn’t hesitate a second before he was out the door. He rubbed his forehead, Obi-Wan’s pain radiating through the Force.

“Master Jinn,” Mace said sharply, “What is it?”

Qui-Gon heaved a sigh and turned his attention back to the concerned figures of the Council. _Now or never_. And so he launched into the tale of finding their lost initiate Kenobi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're very slowly inching our way through this story. I'll do my best to have the next chapter done soonish. Thanks again for the continued support, you guys are so sweet with your comments <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan makes some friends

  


Anakin skidded into the medbay out of breath, coming upon the scene of Cody and Kix attempting to calm a panicking Ben down.

“What happened?” he demanded, feeling his heart quicken at the sight of the writhing man. Ben’s teeth were clenched, hands clutching his head, whimpering.

“We deactivated his transmission chip with a low frequency pulse,” Kix explained. He had a sedative in one hand, but was loathe to use it in the absence of emergency. “I don’t know what happened.”

Anakin nudged Cody out of the way and placed his hands one Ben’s shoulders. “Ben? What’s wrong?” He reached out through the Force, noticing now that the man’s Force signature had burst back to life. Ben recoiled from him.

“Loud,” he gritted out, “The Force - it’s too _much_ . _Help_.”

Suddenly Anakin understood - deactivating the transmitter chip had also shut down the Force dampeners in Ben’s body, leaving him at the full mercy of everything around them. Nearly 10,000 living beings aboard the _Vigilance,_ plus another 10,000 right next to them on the _Resolute_ , meant an onslaught of signatures, thoughts and emotions being lobbed around. His hands moved to cover Ben’s, pulling them from his face. Mentally, he reached out again, slower this time, asking to be let in.

“It’s okay,” he murmured aloud, “I can help, but you have to let me.”

Anakin wrapped his presence around him gently, sending waves of comfort and peace. Bit by bit, Ben’s mind calmed enough that Anakin could set in place thin shields, the kind that initiates were taught to use when venturing outside the Temple. Ben’s hands went slack, tension bleeding from his body as the tortured expression melted from his face.

“Thank you,” he rasped. Ben pushed himself upright on the cot, giving the wary clones a wan smile. “I apologize for causing any alarm.”

Kix bustled in with the true air of a medic, all scanners and readings, checking blood pressure and pupil reactions until he was satisfied with Ben’s recovery. “Don’t know what the _hells_ just happened, but you seem fine now. Whatever that was, don’t do it again. No overusing the Force,” he shot a hard look at Anakin, “Your prognosis for now is good enough that I feel comfortable letting you leave medical, but you’re still malnourished and dehydrated. Fortunately, we have plenty of mushy, protein-rich gruel onboard - my next move would be finding the canteen if I were you.”

“Will do.” Anakin felt a tentative presence reach out to him. Like a child exploring something new and wondrous, Ben had already surpassed his fear of the Force and was testing his newfound capabilities. Awe leached into the Force around him, as well as something akin to glee. Anakin smiled as he reached back with a warm overtone. Ben’s eyes widened, cheeks dusting light red.

In the back of his mind, Qui-Gon’s presence niggled at their bond, sending a questioning thought laced with concern. Anakin sent back a reassuring wave that he knew would read as everything was fine, situation handled. He took Qui-Gon’s answering silence to mean his Master understood.

Cody offered Ben his hand to lever off the bunk. “You gonna do that again?” he asked, eyeing him in case he collapsed. Ben shook his head.

“No, I think I should be quite alright. Everything is...quiet now.”

It was clear Cody had no idea what that meant. Three years of working side-by-side his ‘Force-damned wizard’ General had about left him with no room for shock anymore. “As long as you’re sure, sir. I can accompany you to the mess hall.”

A strange look passed over Ben’s face at the word ‘sir’. Anakin took it as a good sign he didn’t correct the commander.

Instead, he bowed to Kix. “Thank you.”

Clearly taken aback, the medic offered his hand, which Ben took with some hesitation.

“Come back if anything feels off,” he said, giving his hand a firm shake, “I’m serious about the gruel.”

They said their goodbyes to the medic and headed up the turbolift to the upper decks, where the mess hall and the bunks and the rather limited rec room were located. While they walked, Anakin prattled on a constant stream of facts about the make and model of the _Venator-_ class Star Destroyers and smaller ships in the hangar, the Kuat shipyards, a general sketch of the Republic Navy. Interspersed were quick stories of the war, which Cody would interrupt with a deadpan remark every so often. Usually at Anakin’s expense (for the good Commander would never speak ill of his own General - not to a stranger) but the Knight let it slide as the jabs were aimed at making Ben chuckle - a sound which made Anakin’s heart flutter in his ribcage.

All the while they passed brothers and naval officers who gave polite inclines of their heads in acknowledgement, and Anakin could sense Ben reaching out to brush their lifeforce gently, as if scared to do anything more. Now that the chip had been deactivated, the former slave’s emotions were a little clearer, crisp lines of dueling anxiety, relief, and - guilt? - hovering in his surrounding presence.

Being cut off from the Force was one of the worst fates imaginable to a Jedi. To have that connection stripped from oneself for so many years...Anakin had to repress a shudder. All the more reason to admire Ben’s strength - something he found himself doing more and more often.

* * *

  


It was a six day journey from the refuelling stations in the Mid-Rim back to Coruscant, and during that time Qui-Gon’s entire battalion quickly came to enjoy Obi-Wan’s presence on the ship. Two clones, Waxer and Boil, had been in the mess hall when Anakin and the commander settled him with an unappetizing bowl of protein supplement. Upon hearing Obi-Wan’s rather blunt explanation of his background, Waxer’s back straightened with renewed purpose as he offered the slave a seat with them, while his companion rolled his eyes beside him. They’d kept him close while Cody and Anakin returned to the duties of commanding officers (the latter needing quite a few assurances that Obi-Wan would be fine first before leaving).

The two clones had since taken him under their wing, as well as the rest of the battalion he’d met while touring the ship. Besides Kix, who operated in the _Vigilance_ while the _Resolute’s_ medbay was damaged from firefight, Anakin’s troops mostly kept to their General’s flagship.

Even so, the 212th were more than enough boisterous energy to keep Obi-Wan on his toes. They insisted on including him in their games in the rec room and target practice, patiently explaining the ins and outs of safe blaster control before teaching him to fire one himself. Pulling the trigger was a power that sent a thrill down his spine.

While Obi-Wan wasn’t nearly as comfortable with them as the brothers were with each other, he found himself able to let his guard down enough to the point where he slept in an unoccupied bunk in their dormitories. Though occasionally flinching and falling silent when not spoken to out of respect for the speaker, as well as a handful of other habits he found hard to shake, Obi-Wan slowly found himself falling into place onboard the _Vigilance._ The men were fond enough of him to even give him a nickname - ‘Ge’tal’, a word Cody explained meant ‘Red’.

“For your hair,” Waxer grinned at him like it couldn’t have been cleverer. Unanimously decided between the vod, it seemed, and a mark of respect to have earned his own title, he accepted it with grace.

Less graceful was the way he played sabacc. Over the years, Obi-Wan had picked up a rather wild talent for the universal card game, sweeping the floor with his opponents after his third hand.

“Where the _hell_ did you learn to play like that?” A blond haired vod named Crys gaped, watching Obi-Wan innocently slide the winning pile of ration packs towards himself.

He shrugged, humble. “One former Master had me attend while he gambled away his entire inheritance,” Obi-Wan explained, “Ultimately, this led to him selling his estate, myself included.”

“Idiot.” That was that, and the next round began with a fury.

One aspect of the clones Obi-Wan found himself most approving of was the way they didn’t shirk from his past, instead embracing it. News of the slave their General picked up spread through the ranks as all gossip did. They made their opinions on slavery clear without fumbling over words and apologies like the very word ‘slave’ would break him, while at the same time respecting his boundaries and modifying the way they would normally act to accommodate his hesitation.

Sabacc, however, needed no accommodation.  

“Ge’tal indeed,” Boil snorted as Obi-Wan laid down another winning hand, “We should’a called him _Mirdala_.”

Cody bent over to whisper the meaning into Obi-Wan’s ear, and his lips quirked in a pleasant smile.

What time wasn’t spent with the clones (and most definitely _not_ avoiding Jinn) usually found him in Anakin’s quarters while the Knight attempted to help him with shielding.

“I’ve never been the best at meditation,” he said as a disclaimer once, when the power cycles dimmed in the illusion of evening, “Qui-Gon gave me all sorts of poodoo for it when I had to teach _my_ padawan more advanced measures. Did he ever let me have it!”

Obi-Wan released a frustrated breath. So far, he seemed to be unable to sink his consciousness lower than the surface currents of the Force. The knot of anxiety in his stomach grew more twisted, but he pushed it down. “You have a padawan?”

“Mhm. Ahsoka. She’s sixteen, a little spitfire Togruta that can kick a grown man’s ass in two heartbeats. First time I met her she pulled a wall down on me to crush some droids. There was a hole in it, so I was fine, but damn was she a bold one from the start.”

“Sounds like she takes after her Master,” Obi-Wan teased. He unfolded his legs into a more casual crossed positions, managing to refrain from clasping his hands in his lap. Anakin had taken to gently correcting the quirks of slavery in an attempt to help him adjust to freed life. Coming from anyone else, Obi-Wan may have been offended, but he appreciated it from the Knight. Since his revelation of his own past in chains, Obi-Wan’s trust in the man had only increased.

“Sixteen you said? That’s awfully young to be fighting a war, if you don’t mind my saying.”

Anakin’s expression softened with sorrow. “She was fourteen when she was assigned to me,” he mumbled, “No one that young should ever have to experience what she’s been through.”

Obi-Wan ducked his head, cursing himself for being so cavalier. “I’m sorry, sir. That was out of line.”

“No, no,” A hand reached over to rest on his knee, “Don’t be. You’re right - this war is demanding sacrifices of everyone. The sooner we end it, the better.”

Anakin’s voice was ernest, his eyes, when Obi-Wan looked up, much too forgiving for the likes of him. He didn’t deserve anything so kind. His leg shifted up to dislodge Anakin’s hand.

“Well. At least the galaxy has good men fighting for peace,” he managed to say through the lump in his throat. Anakin didn’t look like he was fooled, but he said nothing.

The recycler clicked on in the uncomfortable silence. Obi-Wan shivered, tugging at the long sleeves of his shirt - well, really it was Anakin’s shirt being loaned to him. Oetera was planet of milder climates, and the chill of space penetrated his old servant tunics like wet flimsi. Though darker than what he’d worn as an initiate, the cut of Anakin’s tunics were unmistakably Jedi, falling across Obi-Wan’s narrow frame far too intimately.

“Will they ship me off again?” he asked, almost to himself and softened in uncertainty. They landed on Coruscant in less than twelve standard, and he was beginning to recognize that as the source of his anxiety. He looked to Anakin as if the Knight held any answers. “They made me leave last time because I wasn’t good enough. I doubt they’ll make an exception for me now - an ex-slave _whore_ with the abilities of a crecheling.” He laughed hollowly.

“Don’t say that,” Anakin bit out out a little too sharply, for Obi-Wan flinched. Huddled in baggy tunics, that sad, reproachful look on his face, he was reminiscent of a child -  distantly, Anakin wondered if a life in slavery had impacted his emotional range.

“You’re not a whore,” he added, “And you’ll get better with time. We’ll figure something out. I won’t let them ship you off to some Sith forsaken planet in the Mid. Promise.”

Obi-Wan didn’t believe him, but he nodded away, if only to quell that hauntingly determined look on Anakin’s face. Clambering to his feet, he excused himself to bed. Once the hatch sealed shut behind him, he let out the sigh that’d been building.

Twelve hours until they landed on Coruscant. Twelve hours until he was forced to face his greatest failure. No matter what Anakin said, they both knew he couldn’t promise anything for certain.

The ship was silent save for the thrum of the engines on his walk through the halls. When he entered the trooper dormitories, most of the off-duty vod were already asleep in their cycle. Obi-Wan curled up on his empty berth and tried to still his buzzing mind, not sleeping a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mirdala - "clever" in Mando'a  
> What's UP I had most of this chapter written since the last one was posted and was struggling with the end so I just CUT OUT THE LAST SCENE AHA. So that's why the delay, thank you for your patience <3

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @open-circle-fleets on tumblr, come say hi!


End file.
